Jericho
by Lady of Sandwiches
Summary: We dream in order to soothe our worst memories. Written for the 2nd Great Blind Sassy Exchange. *SEE PROFILE FOR MORE INFO*


_Lucifer didn't ever think he would get bored of using Dean Winchester's face to emotionally, physically, and mentally traumatize the immortal soul of Sam Winchester, but, after a while, he did._

_"It's like I don't even need to try anymore, kiddo," he says, sitting on a rock in front of Sam, arms crossed. "I just put on this face and off you go. You don't even need my help anymore. Your melon is just really full of shit, you know that?" Sam can't speak. His vocal chords were ripped out eight years ago. Lucifer has yet to put them back. "Of course _you_ know. It's your head. You've had to live with it."_

_Lucifer stands up. He walks on those ridiculous bowlegs to Sam, who hangs from one wrist, the other hand broken off and lost in the darkness somewhere. Sam isn't responsive, but Lucifer knows better than to think he's dead, or unconscious, or insane, even. Hell doesn't allow an escape. That's why it's Hell. "And now I have to live with it, too. After a while, surprisingly enough, it gets a little repetitive. All that 'please, big brother, don't hurt me,' crap loses its novelty after eighty or so years." Sam doesn't react. Lucifer wonders off-handedly if his words don't get a rise out of him, or if he's just too weak to respond._

_But the truth of the matter is, Lucifer's bored. He's bored and annoyed and tired of being Dean fucking Winchester. One disappointed scowl from his big brother's face and Sam just goes to pieces. It's too easy. Lucifer wants a challenge, wants variety, and he knows that the easiest way to get it is to try a different form._

_But, really, who else is there in Sam's life? Lucifer's already been Dean and Sam's dead girlfriend, and he can't pull off John Winchester nearly as well as Michael can. He's killed that other hunter man, and then their pet angel -_

_Oh._

_Well, now there's a good idea._

_It's easy enough to sift through Sam's memory and pull the image of Castiel out of his head. He gets a few flashes of emotion, too - exhilaration when Sam found out that angels exist, awe and comfort when seeing one followed by swift disappointment when he got to know him better, rage and jealousy and hero worship and guilt over his fall and grief at his death and… and a little crush?_

_If Lucifer could kick his heels together for joy as a wavelength of celestial intent, he would. As it is, he settles for humming out his pleasure and excitement before stepping back into the darkness, letting Sam twist himself into knots with perpetual anticipation._

_Lucifer remembers Castiel. What a strange creature he was; no grace but still full of burning, misdirected loyalty to those damn humans. Enough loyalty to risk harrowing Hell to attempt to raise Sam Winchester. Castiel had been careless in flaunting his new power; he left traces all over the cage. Lucifer reaches out for the traces now, using them to help further his disguise. He doesn't really think that Sam's soul can discern between different graces that well, or at all, really, but Lucifer doesn't like to skimp on the details. If Sammy sees his angel, he's going to get the whole package, grace and trenchcoat and all. _

_He waits a day longer, just to watch the kid squirm._

_When he steps forward, cloaked in this image, Sam doesn't notice him at first. "Sam," he says in his borrowed voice, low and gravelly and stuffed with as much emotion as he can stomach. Sam raises his head, slowly, hesitantly. Lucifer knows what he's thinking: is it another trick? Of course it is, but _this _trick is already turning out to be the best one yet. Sam's face is so full of hope, his eyes are almost shining with it. Sam opens his mouth and tries to say something, presumably Castiel's name, forgetting for a moment that he can't make a sound._

_Oh yeah. Best trick yet._

_"Oh, Sam," he says hurrying over to the suspended human, arms outstretched as if to hold him, "what have they done to you?" And Sam is smiling, actually smiling and crying silently, and Lucifer hasn't been this excited in years. It's a little irritating how short he is now in this glamour, but right now, he's so happy that it's practically inconsequential. He reaches out to touch Sam, gently cups his face with both hands. Sam leans into the touch like he's been starved for gentleness for years - which he has, of course. Lucifer still emits concern and sorrow in pulses of disguised grace, so Sam doesn't react when he lets go and undoes the cuff with a snap of his fingers. Sam falls into his arms, presses his face into Lucifer's neck. His tears are hot, and Lucifer ruthlessly quashes the laugh bubbling in his throat._

_He carries Sam away into the darkness, away from the center of the cage for a while. There are other places to have fun. Sam clutches at him with his one good arm, shaking with the idea of relief. Lucifer is silent the whole time, just letting Sam believe that he is being rescued. He manages to keep a giggle from escaping. Got to keep the illusion up._

_Part of him secretly cherishes holding this boy in his arms. He loves Sam, truly, he does. Sam is his Vessel, his weapon against his Father. It's just that Sam's been a bad boy recently. He's done some bad things, and he needs to be punished. And Lucifer is more than happy to take on the role of punisher._

_When he passes by a stone table where Michael and that other meatsuit spend most of their time, he slows down, considering. He remembers the first time Sam was on that table. That was the first time Lucifer pretended to be Dean. Oh, the look on that face and the screams he tore out of that throat were so satisfying. Lucifer is definitely up for a repeat performance._

_He lays Sam out on the table, gently. Sam shutters his eyes, looking up at him confusedly through the film of tears. Lucifer brushes Sam's sweaty hair back from his face with one hand, the other one dipping down to his chest. Sam sighs, eyes fluttering closed and back arching weakly. But his eyes fly open and all the breath is pushed from his body when Lucifer proceeds to cut open his chest with one nail and force his hand inside in a single movement. Lucifer wraps his hand around Sam's heart, and looks him in the eye, relishing the shocked pain he sees when he begins to squeeze, slowly, gently, inexorably._

_"Although, a better question would be 'what _will_ they do to you?' Or, perhaps," and he leans over the human, gets in real close to Sam's face and enjoys the sting of betrayal in Sam's eyes, "you should ask yourself what _I _am going to do to you."_

_He releases his grip on Sam's heart and brings two bloody fingers up to Sam's forehead, like a blessing. Sam's still crying, but it's tears of pain, of fear, and Lucifer tries not to laugh. It wouldn't be in character. "It's just the way it should be, Sam," he whispers, rifling through Sam's mind and pulling all his self doubts to the front. "You have sinned; it's only natural that you be punished."_

_Later, when Sam's body is crisscrossed with bruises and blood, while Lucifer is busily perverting every happy memory of Castiel with clever twists of his fingers, making sure his eyes are the brightest blue blue blue possible so the memory will stay with him, he declares loudly, "You could never have been saved, Sam. You're the abomination." And when a desperate noise of grief tears itself out of Sam, despite Sam's lack of vocal cords, Lucifer finally doesn't hold back and lets himself laugh with a sound like lightning._

* * *

Castiel scares Sam.

He's sorta always scared Sam, to be honest. Sam knows his bible inside and out; even before he'd met them, he'd always known that angels were not Victoria's Secret models with wings. They were fierce, they were warriors of God, and their true forms were mind-fuckingly trippy enough to burn out someone's eyeballs.

So, Sam may have felt just a little bit disappointed when it turned out that Castiel, the angel who rescued Dean from Hell and proved that Sam had been _right all along _about the existence of God and angels, turned out to be a skinny guy in a trenchcoat, up until they shook hands. Maybe it was the demon blood inside of him, maybe not, but when Castiel took his hand, Sam could feel the sting of immense power skating through his bones. He could, not_ see _the angel inside the man, but he knew that he had shaken hands with one of the most powerful creatures on the planet, and he was properly terrified and awed for a moment or two. And then Castiel had immediately condemned him as "the boy with the demon blood." Honestly, Sam hadn't really expected Castiel to like him, but to hear him drop those words so casually, like he wasn't fully aware of their impact, hurt a lot. The angels weren't even willing to give him a chance.

And so angels began to fall out of favor with Sam, and he didn't even care. That thought alone proved how far gone he was.

Except some small part of him did care. A lot. Some small part of him lit up whenever the angel entered the room, hung on his every word like it was the secret of the universe, got horrifically jealous whenever Cas and Dean would have a "moment." He wanted to have that with Castiel. Not necessarily with all the eye-fucking, maybe, but just a moment where he could bask in the angel's presence and have someone care about him like Castiel cared about Dean.

Shortly before diving into Hell, Sam resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn't ever have one of those moments with Castiel. Shortly after coming back from Hell, Castiel tried to hug him. Which, two or so years ago, would have been a Really Big Deal; it would have been one of the single most perfect moments of his life, being hugged and comforted by an angel.

So, Sam didn't understand when something deep inside of him _screamed _in terror, so sudden and so strong that Sam sat right the fuck down in his chair, leaving Castiel standing there, left out to dry, arms reaching awkwardly towards him. The sight made him want to vomit.

That night is when his nightmares start up again.

Sam is no stranger to nightmares. Furthermore, he's no stranger to disturbing ones, either. Blood, fire, death, dismemberment; he's seen it all in his dreams, even before Azazel's death visions. And as good as Death's wall might be (_Don't scratch at it, Sammy_ says Dean) he figures that little bits and pieces of Hell are bound to slip through every now and then. They do. And they take the form of nightmares.

It's never a really coherent thing. There's screaming, and there's fire, but it's cold, and there are phantom touches skittering up and down his spine, and there's _blue blue blue eyes boring into him while a hand squeezes his heart crushes it between pale slender fingers and makes him lick his own blood off them_

And Sam doesn't really remember the gritty details when he wakes up. He remembers feelings, mostly, vague snatches of despair and fear and something like betrayal.

The nightmares get more intense as the wall starts to crumble, but his body refuses to wake up, and he has to ride it out until he rouses, gasping with an unnamed terror, swallowing back bile. He thinks he should tell Dean, but he won't. Dean thinks he's okay, thinks the wall is successfully holding back two hundred years of torture, thinks that this desperate gamble to save his little brother actually paid off. It's a fragile illusion held together with alcohol and denial, and Sam can't bring himself to break it.

So, yeah, Sam's slowly breaking apart, slipping down the precarious slope that is his tenuous sanity, and he's terrified of Castiel for some strange reason. But the most irritating part of the whole situation is that he doesn't know _why_.

Sam likes information. He likes to know things. He loves studying the lore, loves learning the dead languages, and he doesn't love it when information is withheld from him. Hell, he'd held a grudge against his father for_years_ for keeping family secrets from him. Sam has a drive and a thirst for knowledge, something he has carried with him through his whole life, to Stanford and Hell and back again. Sam questions why because he wants to know.

Here's the logical dilemma: Sam believed in angels for most of his life, and then he finally met one. Sure, their initial meeting had been rocky, but eventually the angel came around and declared Sam as his friend. Sam, who had harbored a bit of a small crush on Castiel since the beginning, used to think that was the best thing. He used to feel so light whenever Castiel entered the room, like his grace was projecting an atmosphere of serenity. Sam could have lived immersed in that feeling for the rest of his life.

Cas' grace doesn't make him feel like that anymore. It makes his skin crawl, makes his heart shudder and his insides twist in nausea. And Sam doesn't understand why.

Maybe it's an aftereffect of Hell, he thinks. Because he was down there for so long, the darkness permeated his soul and is negatively affected by Castiel's presence. Sam knows the answer is hidden behind the wall. But Dean told him not to scratch at it.

_Don't scratch at it, Sammy._

Dean tells him a lot of things. But he has to know.

* * *

It's when Sam's nightmares start to remind him of his visions that he gets worried. He feels something decaying in the back of his head. He can remember details, now; he remembers Lucifer, looking like Nick, holding Sam in his arms while Adam screams in pain, sounding so far away. _"You thought I was cruel," Lucifer smirks, tongue tracing the shell of his ear, "but I learned everything from my big brother."_ He wakes up with a splitting headache and lumbers over to the motel toilet, violently throwing up the previous night's dinner. His head throbs in time with his heartbeat, quick and stuttering as he presses his face to the cool porcelain.

Something is really wrong with him and Castiel. Something shouldn't be wrong with him and Castiel.

In the wake of the discovery that Cas was working with Crowley (and while Dean ranted and raved, Sam understood, kind of) it turned out that Cas had saved him from the Cage. Castiel, not Crowley. An angel had rescued Sam from damnation. The thought should have cheered him, should have filled him with joy and awe. Instead, the sight of Castiel surrounded by fire, the light dancing off his skin and brightening his eyes to _blue blue blue_ made him want to run as fast and as far away as he could until his feet could no longer carry him, then to dig a whole in the ground and hide, as long as he was safe from _that thing_ -

He shouldn't be this afraid of Cas, his friend, someone who had risked his life to save him. He should be excited about this, he and Cas should be okay. This revelation should not rank high in the list of Sam's most terrifying moments of his life.

He can't fall asleep again. He watches the sunrise with a palpable dread heavy in his stomach.

In the morning, he, Bobby, and Dean go to meet Eleanor Visyak. When they find her wounded and bleeding to death in an alley, Sam isn't that surprised. That's just Winchester luck: they find a lead, and then it's brutally ripped away from them. He's even less surprised when Castiel appears, all dark-eyed and sorrowful.

"When this is all over, I will save Sam."

And the thing is, he can kind of see it coming. When it comes to Sam, everything that can happen, does. Mother dies, girlfriend dies, father dies, he dies, brother dies, he dies again. That's not even counting the death visions and the kidnapping and the demon blood and Lucifer and the many different kinds of torture he now knows intimately. Everything happens to Sam. Castiel appears behind him, places two fingers on his forehead, and there is a single, crystalline moment.

_"I'm so sorry, Sam. I never wanted to hurt you. I want you to know, I consider you to be one of my closest friends, and maybe even… When I have won, I will come back for you. I promise."_ Cas may be an angel, but he hasn't forgotten human emotion, nor the intensity of Winchester emotion. He isn't just sorry, isn't just contrite; he's already grieving.

In a single moment, Castiel apologizes, and Sam draws breath to scream. In the next moment, something snaps inside of Sam's head.

Sam falls into the darkness (again), the _blue blue blue_ of Castiel's eyes chasing him all the way down.

* * *

_Sam doesn't dream in the Cage. Lucifer's Cage does not allow things like sleep, or dreams. But sometimes, he allows himself to hope. An angel rescued Dean Winchester's soul from salvation; maybe someone will come for him, too. Maybe it'll be Castiel._

_But he's pretty sure Castiel's already tried and failed to pull him out._

_When he thinks Castiel has come back to try again, he's so happy. Cas learned stubbornness from the Winchesters. He hopes that Cas will get him out, because he's simply too stubborn to stop until he finishes the job._

_His hope turns to despair when Castiel breaks him apart instead._

_"Sam," he intones, his blue blue blue eyes bright enough to burn, "it was your dream to be saved by an angel, wasn't it? To have my Father recognize that you were worth more than the blood in your body?" Castiel thumbs away a drop of blood from Sam's lip, bringing it up to his mouth. He tastes it, face stony before he passes judgement. "I'm sorry, Sam," says the voice shaking down through Sam's bones, "but you are not worthy. So I will not save you." Such a pronouncement is final, it's unchangeable, and if this isn't his worst nightmare then it's pretty fucking close, and all he can do is cry silently, lie there, and take it._


End file.
